


Santa Baby

by TwistedType



Category: Revolution - Fandom
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-21
Updated: 2014-12-21
Packaged: 2018-03-02 16:41:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,598
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2819066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TwistedType/pseuds/TwistedType
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rachel convinces Charlie and Bass to dress up as Santa and Mrs. Claus for Willoughby's town Christmas Festival. However she wasn't expecting the pair to take their roles so seriously. </p><p>My "A Very Charloe Christmas" present for LemonsAreSweet! </p><p>Wishing you and yours a Very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! </p><p>(May it be filled with lots of Charloe LOVE!)</p><p>Cross Posted on FFN.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Santa Baby

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Lemonsaresweet](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lemonsaresweet/gifts).



> So.... I think I started about 5 different fics for this exchange. I swear I have plot bunny ADD. Anyway, I'm sorry I didn't really use any of your prompts, except for maybe the "secret santa" one. Everything else I tried turned out super angsty, and well... I wanted it to be naughty but FUN naughty! 
> 
> I hope you like it LemonsAreSweet! Please excuse the cheesy-ness! And sorry again that it took so long!
> 
> Have a Merry Christmas Doll! 
> 
> XOXO

“You want me to do what?” Bass nearly shouted at Rachel, as he’d obviously misheard her. Of all the inane ideas that she’d bugged him with over the years this had to be the most surprising. She was staring him down, hands on her hips and a stern set to her face. Her eyes were clearly telling him not to argue. 

“Play Santa for the town Christmas festival.” She stated again, slowly as if he were dumb. Bass shook his head, standing up from his desk ready for a show down. No way in hell was he getting talked into one of Rachel’s silly, compulsive ideas. 

A year after the war with Patriots and they were still on very fragile terms. She hated him on a regular basis; only appealing to him whenever Miles had rejected whatever idea she’d put on the table. It was tiresome keeping up with her bipolar attitude. 

“No way. Make Miles do it. Hell, get your father to. I’m out.” 

He stormed around his desk, moving towards the filing cabinet he kept locked up tight, a secret stash of whiskey lying in wait. Blanchard had made it very clear to him and Miles that drinking on the job was frowned upon, especially for the town Sheriffs. However, Bass and Miles had never been ones to comply with foolish rules, particularly ones limiting their alcohol intake. 

“Miles hates, children. You know that. And my father is just getting over a bout of pneumonia. An infection is not exactly the type of present you want to be passing around to small children.” 

“So find someone in town.” He said, back turned towards her, pouring a stiff drink and rubbing at his scruffy jaw. Where the hell was Miles to save him from this stupid fight? He was too old for this... But not old enough to even be considered to pass as Santa. He was no fat, jolly old elf. “Besides, I look nothing like Santa. So fuck you.” 

Rachel sighed loudly. “You don’t think I’m coming to you because I want to. There is no one left.” The war with the Patriots had not gone as smoothly as they would have liked, particularly in Willoughby. The number of widows and orphans left by the fighting was hefty. For most of them if would be the first Christmas without their perished loved ones. It was part of the reason Rachel had thrown herself so fully into the Holiday festivities, as if she were trying to make up for all the lives lost. 

“Look, Bass. You’re surprisingly good with children. You always have been.” The reference went straight to the deposed dictators heart, recalling the holidays he spent entertaining his younger sisters, and even Danny and Charlie before the Blackout. It was a low blow, but he expected nothing less from Rachel. “And for some unknown reason most of this town idolizes you.” She snorted at her last comment. “I need a Santa and you’re my last resort.”

Bass turned, glaring at her. “Fine. I’ll do it.” He bit out, throwing back his drink. “But I’m not wearing a damn beard.” 

“Great!” Rachel said with clear satisfaction of a battle won. Leaving him no time to renege she headed towards the door. “I’ll send you the details later.”

The Sheriff grumbled under his breath, already regretting his decision. How was it that he let those damn Matheson’s talk him into doing things he didn’t want to time and time again. Usually it was Miles, or Charlie, but it seemed Rachel had picked up on the talent as well. 

“Merry Fuckin’ Christmas to me.” He mumbled to himself, before slamming back another round of whiskey. 

— 

Charlie tugged at the ridiculous get up her mother had managed to force her into. She felt like a mix between a New Vegas prostitute and an Eskimo. The outfit was bright red, decorated in white fur trim that had tinged yellow with age. It was shorter than she expected, floating around just above her knees. The top was tight, the attached fur tickling her cleavage.

“I didn’t expect Mrs. Claus to dress so... Slutty?” She said, peering around her reflection in the mirror to address her mother. Rachel pursed her lips, unamused by her daughter’s comments. 

“I wore it in High School. It was cute.” 

Charlie raised her eyebrows. Cute was not the word she would use for it. She opened her mouth to voice her opinion on her mother’s less than tasteful costume, but thought better of it. Instead she snatched the furred hood over her head, adjusting her curls before turning around with exaggerated cheer. 

“How do I look?” 

Rachel’s frown turned into a smile, a wistful look in her eyes. In an alternate universe this would have been a normal part of Charlie’s life. Growing up, going to parties in questionable costumes, fighting with Ben and herself about the trouble she would no doubt get into. Instead she was raised with no power, learning to fight and survive from an early age. “Beautiful.” She replied, sad for her daughter that she’d missed so much, knowing she was the one to blame.

The comment made Charlie snort, but twirl back to the mirror, tilting her head as she gazed at herself. She twirled a piece of hair around her finger, feeling girlishly foolish. “And you said Bass is going to be Santa?” A mischievous grin threatening to appear on her face, she hid it well though, behind a veil of annoyance. 

“Yes.” Rachel huffed, clearly unhappy with her choice. “I swear if he —”

“It’ll be great, Mom.” She cut her off. Not in the mood to hear a Bass fuelled rant. “He’ll be on his best behavior.... I’ll make sure of it.” 

—

“This smells like mothballs.” Bass moaned, sniffing at the collar of the Santa costume. Besides it’s smell it had held up fairly well to the test of time, only a slight discoloration. The costume fit well, a little tight in the shoulders and big in the pants. He wasn’t heavy enough around the middle to fill out the costume the way it was designed. 

Miles was giggling like a hyena beside him, throwing a round pillow at his head. “Stuff this in your pants, Santa.” He said before bowling over into another round of laughter. 

“Dick.” Bass spat at him, shoving the pillow into the waist of his pants, tightening the ties at the waistband to hold it all in place. Once he got everything settled the costume looked decent, though he still considered himself too handsome to actually look like Santa. 

“You look absurd. Worse than Charlie, which I didn’t think was possible.”

“Charlie?” Bass asked turning around, grabbing at the flask Miles had managed to sneak into the Church, under Rachel’s watchful eyes. 

“Yeah. Rachel talked her into being Mrs. Claus. Really pulled out all the stops in convincing her to do it. She put up a tougher fight than you did from what Rachel said.”

Bass grunted in response, still digesting the fact that Charlie was going to be his Mrs. Claus. The thought appealed to him more than it should. He found himself hoping the costume was one like the Coeds used to wear before the blackout. At least it would make his night more entertaining. 

They’d been tiptoeing around each other for months. Ever since the war had ended, and they’d settled into their monotonous life in Willoughby. They’d both been looking to one another as an output for the boredom, usually in the form of sexually frustrated arguments. They’d never taken it past flirtation or suggestive eye-fucks, but the implication was there. Both were waiting for the other to make the move. Maybe it was time to stop pussyfooting around. Bass was a man that took what he wanted after all. He was getting tired of the buildup and no release. 

“Hey, Asshole.” Miles said slapping his arm, and snatching back his flask. “Rachel’s yelling for you.”

Bass gave him an annoyed shove, before walking out of the dressing room. The old church was fairly small, but it had a decent recreational hall that it used for religious plays and performances. Today it had been transformed into Santa’s workshop. Old holiday items had been pulled from storage, or scrounged up from wherever they could be found. Fake snow littered the floor in the form of feathers and pillow stuffing, and tinsel and garland hung from every available ledge. The set up rivaled some of the pre-Blackout decorations put on by the local department stores. 

Rachel was hurrying around with a few ladies, finishing up final adjustments. In the center of the madness was a large chair, Santa’s he presumed. Lounging across the chair, an annoyed look on her face, was Charlie. Her legs were hiked up, folded over the chair arm carelessly. Her arrangement had caused her skirt to hike up to the top of her thighs. The sight of the creamy skin caused Bass to swallow. It was going to be a long three hours. 

“Hey, Santa.” Charlie said with an impish grin as he approached. Scanning him from head to toe. He certainly didn’t look like any Santa she’d ever remembered seeing. He was too tan, too built — even with the fake belly stuffed under his shirt — and conspicuously missing a white fluffy beard. She wrinkled her nose in laughter at the surly expression he wore. Yes, he wasn’t very jolly for someone pretending to be happy ole St. Nick. 

“There you are.” Rachel said, a mix of relief and frustration. She scanned him over, eyes narrowing. “Wait. Where is the bag of gifts?”

“Bag of gifts?” He parroted. 

“The bag of gifts you were supposed to grab from town hall.” Rachel nearly screeched, hands clinching at her sides. 

“You’re not very good at this whole Santa thing.” Charlie said at the same time, with an impish grin. He glared at her, before turning his eyes back to Rachel. 

“You never told me that.” 

“Yes. I. Did.”

Bass shook his head. “I think I’d remember something like that. You never told me.”

“Rachel,” One of the older ladies interrupted, sensing the impending blow up. Rachel’s face had already turned the color of a candied apple. “There is still almost an hour till the children arrive. We can go grab it. Besides, from what Tracy told me it would be too much for one person to get. We are finished here for now.” 

“You’re right.” Rachel responded through a tight smile, though her angry gaze on Bass didn’t lessen. “I’ll grab Miles. You two.” Her fingers pointing at Charlie and Bass as if they were naughty children. “Do not leave. You need to be ready in case any families show up early. So help me if you —”

“We got this, Mom. Go.” Charlie said with a swish of her hand. Rachel narrowed her eyes, but stomped off with her helpers in tow like little ducklings. 

Bass smirked down at Charlie as the door shut behind them. “You’re in my seat, Kid.” He stepped up, nudging the leg of the chair with his foot. 

Charlie tipped her chin up defiantly, eyes narrowing at the term ‘kid.’ “I’m not a child. Besides, is that anyway to speak to your wife?” 

He chuckled, staring down at her with heated eyes. The angle gave him an excellent view down the front of her top, and the cleavage spilling over top. No, she was definitely not a child, but he couldn’t pass up the chance to yank on her metaphorical pigtails. 

“Mmmm. My wife was it? Does that entitle me to husbandly activities.” The suggestion was clear in his voice, and the fingers that were currently trailing up the lower half of her thigh. Charlie flushed, pushing down the material he’s managed to move and swatting away his hand. She slid around in the seat, settling her feet on the ground and crossing her legs. 

“Well aren’t you rather forward Mr. Claus.” 

“Most certainly.” He replied, looming over her, hands settling on the top of the chair and boxing her in. “But I don’t think you mind, Charlotte. Or you would have told me to stop.” 

She paused, her tongue poking out to wet her bottom lip. Her eyes were shining with a mix of lust and amusement. Her hands flitted over the fur-lined front of his costume, toying with the fabric. With a shake of her head, she answered him. “No. I don’t mind.”

Before she could stop him he’d picked her up, and replacing himself in the large seat. She let out and undignified squeal as he spun her around, settling her across his lap. He settled one hand across her lower back, the other on the outside of her upper thigh, brushing away the fuzzy skirt as if it personally offended him. 

“Bass.” Charlie said, her voice lowering and filling with sexual tension. 

He tsked her, patting her thigh lightly with his rough, calloused hand. His thumb smoothed at the delicate skin as he gazed over her, the heat in his eyes juxtaposed to their icy blue color. She shivered at the touch, squirming at the new position. His hands gripped her tighter to still her movements.

“Tell me, Charlotte. Have you been a good girl this year?” 

Her eyes locked on his mouth as he spoke. She couldn’t stop herself from biting her bottom lip, entranced with the ideas of what his mouth could do. She wasn’t objecting at all to the way this night was suddenly going. She knew this was a bad idea, but they’d been dancing around each other for long enough. If it was a cheesy night of playing Santa and Mrs. Claus that finally got them together, so be it. She was never one to turn down a new experience, even if it was borderline inappropriate. 

“Of course, Santa.” She replied with a cheerful smile. Her hand slithered up his chest, and began playing with the fur of his collar, dipping in to brush over his muscled neck and flexing tendons. “I’m always a good girl.” 

“That’s not what I hear.” 

His hand slid up further, fingers toying with the elastic of the underwear she wore. She wiggled again, urging him on. Under her upper thighs she could feel the beginnings of his arousal. 

“Oh?” Her head tilted, eyebrows furrowing in playful confusion. 

“I’ve heard you’ve been very naughty. Teasing grown men, flaunting yourself around town.”

She rolled her eye at his comments, earning her a smack against the side of her ass. She let out an indignant huff, face scrunching into a false frown, lips pouting out as she played into his game. 

“I promise I won’t do it again. Please don’t put me on the naughty list.”

“I’m afraid it’s too late.” Bass replied, trying to look stern, but failing. “Do you know what bad girls get for Christmas?” 

Charlie widened her eyes in mock horror, shaking her head. “Coal?” 

“No.”

“Sexual frustration.” She groundout as his fingers dipped under her panties to toy with her swollen, wet flesh. Her stomach clinched at the feeling, and again at the deep throaty laugh he let out at her expense. 

“It would be a fair trade.”

“Bass....!” She screeched out indignantly. 

“Ah. Ah. Ah. What was that?” 

“This is no way to treat your wife, Mr. Claus.”

He laughed again, before tugging at her leg and situating her so she was kneeling over his lap. Her arms fell around his shoulders, grabbing them for support. He studied her, the loose curls falling around her face and the excited flush to her skin. Both his hands slipped under her skirt to rest on the exposed skin of her bottom, one squeezed at the meaty flesh, kneading it roughly. The other ventured lowered, trailing over the wet fabric between her legs. 

“So wet, Mrs. Claus. You are definitely a very naughty girl. Does it get you off knowing what you do to me.” 

“Yes.” She responded in a breathy moan, grinding down on the hand between her legs. Tiny shock waves resonated through her body as his thumb found her clit, circling it over the fabric of her underwear.

“Do you promise to be a good girl this coming year? No more teasing?”

He applied more pressure to her sensitive flesh causing her to keen in excitement. “God yes.” 

“Well then I think Santa might just have a package for you.” 

Even in her pleasure filled state Charlie couldn’t help herself, laughing at his comment with an unattractive snort. “Seriously?”

“Shut up.” He growled, a finger sliding through her folds and into her heat. Stopping her laughter in an instant. Using his other hand he pulled her forward by the back of her head, smashing her lips to his and swallowing her sweet little cries of pleasure. She tasted like peppermint and whiskey, sweet and hot on his tongue. 

Charlie rubbed her cheek against his jaw, purring like a kitten, and loving the scratch of his scruff against her skin. She was almost certain she had a fetish for it, as it played a central roll in almost all of her naughty dreams. While they kissed leisurely, her hands were impatient, diving under his jacket top to undo his pants. She fumbled with the material, finally getting them undone, but instead of finding the hot, hard flesh of his abdomen, she came into contact with a hand full of pillow.

“What the hell is this?” She asked, pulling away from the kiss with fake surprise. The pillow filled the space between them and Bass looked at her with a frown. “Santa needs a belly.” He commented as if it made all the sense in the world. Charlie raised an eyebrow. “What? You didn’t really think I was that fat?” 

Of course not, but his annoyance was amusing. “I just thought....”

He growled, throwing the pillow aside and pulling her tighter to him with an arm around her waist. Charlie laughed into the kiss, playful biting at his bottom lip and running her fingers through his hair, pushing off his tacky Santa hat. His shorn curls danced beneath her fingers, sticking up in a wild design. He hushed her giggles when he finally managed himself free of his boxers, running the head of his cock up and down her slit. She was drenched. 

“Are we really going to do this, Charlotte?” He asked, pulling them out of their fantasy. He had to be sure. There was no going back from this for him. All or nothing. They’d been playing around for too long and if she was going to regret it....

“Yes.” She answered, her voice breathless. Their eyes locked and the air seemed to leave the room, years worth of emotions flooding between them. She smiled at him, cheeks lighting up in a bashful blush that was at odds with their current situation. 

“Please, Bass.” She begged, squirming against him as if her life depended on getting his cock inside her. He grabbed her hips, lowering her slowly down his length. Charlie gasped at the feeling, her muscles tightening around the welcomed intrusion. 

She played her fingers along his jaw, tilting his head for a kiss as she began to move, moaning softly with every thrust. Bass held her tightly, crushing her to his body as his hands moved and explored over every inch of exposed flesh. He had a thing for her ass, she decided, as his hands continuously made their way back to her bottom, squeezing and slapping in encouragement.

“Harder.” She moaned, her thighs tightening against his legs. She was close, her movements becoming jerky as she chased her orgasm. Bass, grabbed her hips fingers digging into satin covered flesh, slamming her down against his thrust. 

“There’s my good girl.” He crooned, as he felt her contract around him, her orgasm washing over her. She moaned into the feeling, letting the pleasure and the warmth of his words wash over her. She knew shouldn’t feel so happy when he called her such things. It went against every independent bone in her body, but something about Sebastian Monroe calling her his, well it did things to her... 

As her orgasm subsided, her body fell lax, bones like jelly. She buried her face in Bass’s neck, sucking and biting at his hidden skin. He moved harder within her, searching for his own release. 

“Don’t stop.” She sighed in his ear, tightening her muscles around him in the most torturous way. He let out a grunt, his fingers tightening on her hips, ready to leave her heat.

“No.” She murmured, arms and legs flexing to hold him tighter. She was draped over him like a blanket, refusing to leave the comfort and pleasure of her position. 

“Charlie, this is dangerous.” He choked out, jaw clinching as he tried to hold off coming. 

“Please, Santa.” She whispered, sucking his earlobe between her teeth. 

He was a goner. 

Bass’s eyes rolled back in his head, hips thrusting violently as he let himself go. A string of unintelligible curse words left his lips as he surged upwards for the final time. 

Charlie’s eyes fluttered at the feel of him filling her. The surge of heat sending shivers throughout her body. The feeling was addictive. Dangerously addictive. She realized it was unsafe. How horribly, unfit the two of them were to be parents, but for some reason with him it felt right. Call if madness, or a silly Christmas wish, but if she was going to have a baby with anyone she wanted it to be him. 

“Bass.” She breathed into his neck, placing a kiss below his ear before reluctantly pulling away. The niggling in the back of her mind that their were running out of time was now screaming in urgency. “That was...”

He gave her a loopy smile, his hand sliding over her waist. “Perfect?” He asked with a raised eyebrow. 

She grinned back nose wrinkling. “Cheesy.” 

“You wound me Mrs. Claus.” 

She shook her head with quite laughter and she eased off him slowly. His hands gripped her tighter in response, his head tilting in a question. 

“In case that sex was so mind-blowing that you forgot, but we have about forty little children about to bust through that door to see Santa and Mrs. Claus. I don’t think their parents would appreciate our current position.”

He grumbled, under his breathe, head tilting back against the chair, unhappy with the reminder. His hands loosened, letting Charlie slide off of him. She straightened her outfit, wiping at their mixed fluids running down the inside of her legs. A hot blush stained her checks again at the feeling of the debauchery they’d just committed. Both of them were on the naughty list indeed. 

Bass watched with a satisfied smirk as she righted herself, doing the same leisurely. She looked thoroughly fucked, something he’d been aching to do since the moment he met her back in Philadelphia. Maybe he would have to thank Rachel for making him be Santa after all. 

As if thinking of her made her appear, Rachel followed by a crew, Miles included, entered the room with bags of toys on their backs. Bass’s eyes flashed to Charlie, who was trying her hardest to look normal. He stood from the seat, tugging at a lock of her hair and musing the hood she’d just pulled back atop her head. She cut her eyes at him, fighting back the urge to stick out her tongue. 

“I’m going to have to put you on the naughty list, Mr. Claus.” She murmured, as the group approached. 

“Please do.” He snarked back with a wink. 

Miles eyed them both suspiciously, their cheeks were too rosy and their eyes too merry. Usually they couldn’t be in the same room without fighting. Something was off with the pair. “What have you two been doing?” 

“Nothing.” Charlie jumped in, stepping up to clear her mother’s hands of toy bag. “Waiting on you all to return.” 

“Hmph.” Miles grumbled, shoving a bag in Bass’s direction. “Here Santa.” 

Bass grunted at the load. “Grinch.” He shot at Miles who’s scowl deepened. He was not in the mood for this cheery shit, particularly from Bass. He narrowed his eyes at his friend’s relaxed grin, warning bells ringing in his mind. 

“Why are you so damn happy?” 

“It’s Christmas, brother. The most wonderful time of the year, and all that shit.” Bass said, slapping Miles on the shoulder and attempting to pull him into a hug. Miles shoved him away, but not before getting an up close look at the skin of Bass’s neck — not even a tan couldn’t hide hickeys that fresh. Miles turned his gaze on Charlie, eyes scanning her appearance with precision, fixating on the swollen flesh of her lips and ruddy scratches along her cheeks. 

“You son of a bitch.” Miles growled, grabbing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Bass didn’t have time to think before Miles was on him, shoving him into a puff of fake snow. The feathers flew up around them as Miles struggled to land a fist on Santa’s flesh. The group of ladies began shrieking at the fight, all except Charlie who jumped into the fray, trying to contain her enraged uncle.

“Damn it, Miles!” She chastised as she jumped over his back, grabbing at his arms in an attempt to constrain him. Bass was laughing at the attack, still slaphappy from the bout of sex, which only enraged Mile’s more. 

“I’m going to kill you.” Miles threatened, hands trying to loop around Bass’s neck. 

“No, you’re not!” Charlie snapped back, hitting her uncle upside the head. It was a failed attempt to knock some sense into his stubborn brain. “And Bass, stop laughing!” 

It was this frantic, feather filled fight that the families of Willoughby walked in on. With Mrs. Claus launched over her uncle’s back, trying to restrain his flailing arms as he tried with all his might to kill Santa. 

It took the screaming and crying of nearly forty children for the three to stop their struggle. Bass finally shoved Miles away with his long legs, and scrambling up from the snow. 

“You’re a dick.” He spat at his friend as he offered a hand to Charlie, pulling her up from the fluffy mess. A hand wrapped around her waist, a clear show of ‘fuck you’ to everyone around. Rachel’s horrified gasp could barley be heard amongst the choir of frightened children.

Miles laid back in the snow, limbs sprawled out in defeat, and face drawn up in a scowl. “This can’t be happening.” He said in disbelief, eyes boring into Charlie. “You hate him.” 

She shrugged, gazing up at Bass. “He grew on me.”

The smug bastard looked down at her, lips drawn up into a warm smile. The hand on her waist tightened, pulling her closer. “I’d like to think of it as a Christmas miracle.” 

“You have got to be kidding me.” Miles said, letting his head thump back and eyes roll shut. A disgusted groan erupted from his throat.

“You’re so cheesy, Santa.” Charlie said with an eye roll, her hands going to the back of Bass’s neck, tugging his face to hers. 

“You love it, Mrs. Claus.” 

She tilted her head, smirking in agreement. 

Bass chuckled, tugging her closer. “Merry Fuckin’ Christmas to me.” He whispered, before pressing his lips to hers, much to the cringe of the audience surrounding them.


End file.
